Page 161 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

“More wine happened.” Amai propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with that expression he got when he was about to tell on somebody. “Saroya found the good bottles. Raven encouraged her. It got loud out there for a minute.”

“And you just let them keep drinking up all the wine in your house?”

“I wasn’t about to be the one to tell three grown women no.” He said it plainly, like that had been the only reasonable choice available to him. “I carried you up here myself, though. You didn’t even wake up. Dead weight the whole way up the stairs.”

“I was not dead weight.”

“You were bricks, Truth. I love you, but you were bricks.”

I swatted at his chest, and he caught my hand and kissed my knuckles like it was nothing. Like it was just a normal Tuesday thing to do, and something about the casualness of it settled warm in my chest.

“Did Raven sneak off with Priest?” I asked. I needed to know, because Raven had been giving Priest a very specific kind of attention all night that had nothing to do with security detail.

“No.” Amai actually laughed at that, short and real. “Raven was a lady about it. Went straight to her room.”

“But?”

“But Priest told me he’s feeling her.”

“He told you?”

“Man to man. Last night, before he left.” Amai shrugged like this was the most normal exchange between grown men in the world. “He wanted to know if that was a problem. If it would be weird.”

“Is it weird?”

“Nah.” He said it easy, no hesitation. “Priest is good. If Raven likes him, that’s her business.”

“Is he a good guy?” I asked, genuinely curious now, propping my chin on my hand. “Or is he chaos, like you?”

Amai actually thought about that one for a second, which told me he was taking the question seriously and not just handing me a quick answer to move past it.

“Priest is my brother,” he said finally. “Not blood. But it don’t matter to me. He’s one of the only people I trust with my life.”

I let that sit for a second, the weight of it, because I understood exactly what he meant without him having to explain the difference between blood and chosen.

“Do you trust me with your life?” I asked before I could think too hard about whether I actually wanted the answer.

Amai didn’t rush it. That was the thing about him that I’d learned to appreciate, even when it was inconvenient—he didn’t give me pretty answers just because they were easier to say.

“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “I think I can. But I won’t know for sure until my life is actually in your hands, and I see what you do with it.”

It should have stung, maybe, hearing that kind of hesitation from a man who climbed rooftops for me. But it didn’t. It felt true. It felt like something I could respect.

“Do you trust me with yours?” he asked, turning it back around.

I hesitated, because I owed him the same honesty he’d just given me.

“Day by day,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure either. But I’m leaning toward yes.” I looked at him. “I know without a doubt you’d kill for me and these babies. That much I’m sure of.”

“Facts,” Amai said simply, like that settled the whole conversation, and maybe for him, it did.

We got up not long after that, showered separately because we had places to be and people downstairs waiting on us, and dressed quick—me in one of the outfits Amai had apparently arranged weeks ago without me even asking, him in something that looked effortless but probably cost more than my old rent.

By the time we made it downstairs, the smell of food had already taken over the whole first floor—bacon, biscuits, something sweet baking that I couldn’t place yet—and the chef had laid out a full brunch spread across the long dining table like she’d been expecting a crowd.

Raven was already seated, going in on a plate of eggs, talking with her mouth half full.

“Truth, I’m telling you, that man had a whole stylist drop off clothes for us. Designer. Like real, actual designer clothes. Just so we could shower and change before we left.” She pointed her fork at Amai like he was on trial. “Who does that?”